Foreshadows of Love and Sorrow
by Seawitch13
Summary: Lee/Ron. Ron discovers his Cursed heritage and is determined to evade it. Lee has to deal with his new-found attraction for Fred and George's baby brother. In a time of war and hatred, Lee and Ron have only each other to depend on. Warnings etc. inside.
1. Prologue

**A/N: My second fanfic, but I still want you to be kind! To warn you, although this is mainly a Family/Supernatural story, there ****will still be some slash****. So I would **_**really **_**appreciate it if you ****didn't**** flame because of the pairing (feel free to flame for the grammar, spelling, plot, etc.). Please tell me what you think, I need all the advice I can get!**

**This story is dedicated to midnitemood, who is amazing and who was the inspiration for this entire plot!**

**Main Pairing: Lee Jordan/Ron Weasley **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please do not attempt to sue me; I have a relative who's a lawyer!**

**Summary: Ronald Weasley discovers he is a Cursed and that the fate of his loved ones depends on whether or not he's willing to face up to his heritage, and the consequences if he does… **

**Warnings: Alternate Universe, Book 7 Disregarded, Character Death, Sexual Situations, Slash and Violence. **

**Rating applies to later chapters, as do most of the warnings. **

Prologue 

"Another baby boy," Molly Weasley whispered to herself, curled up alone in the hospital bed. It was said with a hint of regret – but she looked down at the newest addition to her family with enough love in her eyes to melt the North Pole, nonetheless.

"Another one?" she glanced up in surprise, before her worn face brightened in delight at the sight of _him_ standing in her doorway.

"Of course, dear," she replied, beaming, before confusion began to grow in her warm, motherly eyes.

"I left the boys with my parents," Arthur assured, crossing the room to sit down next to her.

Molly hesitated. "How are they taking it?" she asked carefully, staring deep into his entrancing eyes.

"My parents or our sons?" Arthur questioned gently.

"Either. Both."

"They… they've seen better," her husband settled on, stroking her much-smaller hand with his own, trying to give consolation.

A silence grew as the couple contemplated on all that had happened in the last twelve hours, the grief still stabbing at their hearts.

"Can I hold him?" Arthur only said it to break the stillness, but he still had the sense to say it cautiously; knowing from experience how possessive Molly was for the first few days.

To his concern, she handed over their infant instantly. However, all worries were soon banished from Arthur's mind as he stared down at his youngest son, eyes drinking in his captivating features. A tuft of flaming red hair already strewn across his head; tiny, fragile limbs; ethereal, pale skin; huge, innocent eyes, the exact same shade as… never mind.

"He's adorable," Arthur murmured in awe. Molly smiled her agreement, already loving her baby boy beyond measure.

Neither of them mentioned that their newborn was almost too-delicate, skin almost too-colourless. Neither of them mentioned the tears cascading down both their faces. Neither of them mentioned that although this baby provided comfort, hope, nothing would ever truly erase the tragedy of the night before from their minds.

Weasleys are survivors, after all.

"We'll need to choose a name," Molly said softly, more to herself, but it succeeded in waking them both from their reverie.

"They should be here," Arthur said suddenly, in a voice that was so broken it nearly tore her heart apart at the seams.

"They can be," she soothed desperately, an idea beginning to form. "What about Ronald Bilius?"

Arthur stared at her for a few moments. "Are you sure?"

"If you are."

They didn't need to discuss it further. Both knew it was the right choice, the only choice.

It stood to reason for the child to be named after, for, the two men who gave their humanity to protect him. The birth had happened so close to the deaths, it was fate – it had to be. That was why his birth had been _wrong_ – pure and simple. The shock alone had started her labour; he had come too soon. Premature, vulnerable, and very mortal.

This baby; this petite, harmless baby… his birth had been soaked in blood. And one of the most terrible curses ever to stain the earth would be inflicted upon him as a result.


	2. 1997 in 1984

**A/N: My second**** fanfic****, but I still want you to be kind! To warn you, although this ****is**** mainly written in the genres family and supernatural, there will still be some romance – as in slash. So I would **_**really **_**appreciate it if you didn't flame because of the pairing (feel free to flame for the grammar, spelling, plot, etc.). Please tell me what you think, I need all the advice I can get!**

**This story is dedicated to**** midnitemood****, who is amazing and who was the inspiration for this entire plot (or what I have tried to make into a plot...)!**

**Main Pairing: Lee Jordan/Ron**** Weasley**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please do not attempt to sue me; I have a relative who's a lawyer!**

**Summary: Ronald**** Weasley**** discovers he is a Cursed and that the fate of his loved ones depends on whether or not he's willing to face up to his heritage, and the consequences if he does… **

**Warnings: Alternate Universe, Book 7 Disregarded, Character Death, Sexual Situations, Slash and Violence. **

**Rating applies to later chapters, as do most of the warnings. **

**Thanks to talley67 and**** midnitemood**** for reviewing!**

**Sorry for taking so long to update; I have been at my cousins' for the last few weeks and although they assured me they had a computer, it turned out they didn't have internet access. **

1997 in 1984

It was the summer of 1984 and, although no one knew it yet, the child named Ronald Bilius Weasley was about to get a glimpse into 1997.

"Night, Ronnie," Bill yawned as he all but fell into bed, giving his baby brother a sleepy smile.

"Night, Bill!" he replied, eyes fluttering shut.

The moon slipped behind the clouds and shadows filled the room, in the same way a different form of shadows began to fill Ron's mind. He twitched furiously but his four-year-old resistance could do nothing against fate. The darkness devoured him.

Hundreds of miles away, in a headquarters stationed underground, a cauldron began to bubble.

Ron stood at the foot of a stairway, watching as people all around him clashed wands. Many of the faces were half-shrouded by the darkness and no one looked familiar. Screams echoed in the room along with curses and charms. Ron tried to shrink back to the wall on his left, but he couldn't feel the reassuring solid beneath his fingertips no matter how hard he tried to move.

Everything seemed to slow as he caught sight of a male redhead, mere metres from where he was standing. An aura of love and compassion surrounded the man, but Ron knew instinctively this man could be ferocious and frightening. He was torn between attempting to back away from him and attempting to run forwards and embrace.

The man glanced in his direction, looked at him, looked straight through him, and Ron saw it, just for a moment: a flash of his thirteen-year-old eldest brother. This Bill was taller, broader, but behind the cold mask of anger Ron could see the ready smile and consoling eyes lingering.

A terrible, bloodthirsty howl rang out just before a monster of a man leapt on his startled elder brother. A cold feeling of dread snaked up Ron's spine.

However, the element of surprise didn't benefit the man for long. Bill's nostrils flared, his mouth scowled, his eyes darkened. Ron dared to hope he would be all right.

That illusion soon shattered.

Ron couldn't tear his eyes away as he watched the man with the long yellow fingernails pin Bill to the ground and rip the wand from his grasp. The man licked his lips slowly, sensually, as Bill thrashed about underneath him and Ron couldn't understand why no one was rushing to Bill's aid.

Time seemed to freeze there and then. The huge man with long limbs and otherworldly strength flowing through them, with his delighted smile, his cat-like whiskers, his triumphant expression, crouched over Bill, preparing to strike. The man bared his teeth, saliva drooling from the corners of his mouth, stretched out his nails and Ron squeezed his eyes shut.

Not even that could protect him. The haunting sounds of ripping and tearing crowded the room, along with Bill's agonized cries…

If Ron had possessed the power to move at all, screams would have been spilling out of him, tears would have been gushing from his eyes, his fists would have been clenched. As it was, all he could do was listen as the noises faded and timidly open his eyes to find himself in another place altogether.

Ron stood in the corner of a sunlit room that had been emptied of everything personal. All that remained were a wooden desk, a large mirror with hieroglyphics decorating the edges, a lot of shelves and a couple of chairs.

Another redhead stood in the centre of the pale orange carpet, with his back to Ron, gazing around slowly as though trying to take a photograph of his surroundings and store it in his mind.

Ron noticed the small vial cowering with a note at the back of a low shelf at the same time the man did. Still with his back to Ron, he strode over and bent down to pick them up. A flicker of unease rippled through Ron, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He tried to take a step towards the man but his feet wouldn't obey. He wriggled frenziedly, but found again that he couldn't move at all.

The man glanced round, almost as if he'd sensed his presence, and Ron felt the scream of horror bubble up in his throat at the sight of the scars curving across the previously handsome face. The man – _Bill_ – looked straight at him, through him again, and stepped in front of the mirror. The sapphire-blue liquid sloshed around beckoningly and Bill stared at it for a few moments, entranced, before he read the note, raising his eyebrows in surprise. At last he smiled – a small gesture that distorted his cuts and emphasised their angry red shade – and slowly, carefully, tipped the liquid into his hand and applied it to the slashes.

Ron expected his eldest brother's face to melt away, to explode, to freeze… but nothing like that happened. As he looked on, captivated by a mixture of terror and intrigue, Bill smiled again, this time looking as though a tremendous weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and walked past Ron and out the door. His face didn't look different, not by much, but Ron had to admit the wounds didn't look quite so dark and open.

That image dwindled away to be replaced once more – this time Ron stood in a gleaming white ward gazing at an equally white bed. Ron shivered as he stared round the hospital. But that was nothing compared to how his breath caught in his throat when his eyes settled on the motionless figure in the bed.

The person looked painfully pale and the thick, glowing hair had been reduced to lank tendrils. The scars that plunged across the exhausted face were rimmed with black. Red liquid was just visible in the gashes and seemed ready to flow out like lava.

Ron felt bile rise in his throat but managed to force it down. His last thought before consciousness claimed him was that someone must really hate Bill.

* * *

In the woods, somewhere in the north of Scotland, four teenagers slept peacefully in a tent. Nearest the entrance was a redhead with long, graceful limbs and flowing hair. His pale skin looked luminous under the moon's rays and his intense blue eyes were concealed under eyelids and long eyelashes. This teenager began to stir as a red glow pulsed in his necklace. His eyes snapped open and Reynold Septimus Weasley cradled the pendant in his hands with a sigh of resignation.

"Yes, Damon?" he spoke into the jewel as though it would answer him – and it did. The irate face of his commander came into view and started to bark out the co-ordinates:

"United Kingdom, England, Ottery St Catchpole, 20th July 1984, 10:34pm-"

"Is it Ron?" Reynold cut him off urgently. Behind him, the other three gradually woke, groaning and rubbing their eyes before freezing guiltily when they caught sight of Reynold.

"That isn't relevant," Damon snarled. "Just get to the Burrow and do your duty."

"Wait, what-"

"Premonition," Damon answered. "Now hurry up before the whole damn household discovers." He gave his deputy a warning glare and disappeared.

Reynold stuffed the necklace back inside his shirt and turned to the blonde girl. "Sorry, Elvira. I'll make it up to you, I swear."

"Forget it, Rennie," she replied, smiling sadly. "Just go to your cousin before Damon comes and kicks your ass."

He whipped out his wand and was standing in a small, brightly painted (though the darkness disguised that fact) room in seconds. Two redheads slept inches from him, the smaller one tossing and turning and whimpering faintly. Reynold doubted anyone would wake up from that, but he still put Bill into an even deeper sleep, cast a locking charm on the door and muttered a spell that would muffle the most explosive of noises. This time looked promising: so far, the only awake Weasley he'd have to see would be Ronnie.

Reynold stepped closer to the bed, aching to wake the restless figure up and rescue him from whatever hellish vision was playing out in his mind. However, Ronnie did that himself: his eyes flickered open and he moaned weakly, tears slithering down his face. He itched to go forward and wrap his baby cousin up in a hug but, judging from the way Ron stilled and his eyes widened when he saw him, he knew it wouldn't be a good idea.

"Shush, it's okay," he soothed. "Please calm down."

"Are you evil?" Ron gasped out, drawing back although his eyes shone with fascination.

Reynold let out a low chuckle. "I hope not." He held Ron's gaze, comforting and non-threatening.

"You've got red hair like me," Ron said, switching his stare to the curtain of scarlet. His eyes held a trace of recognition that he seemed to be battling to remember.

"Well, we're family," Reynold replied, wanting to say so much more but not knowing the words. "And families look out for each other."

Ron nodded, digesting this, still looking wary.

"I can make your dream go away," Reynold said, tentatively taking Ronnie's hand, cursing the fact that he had to rush this and was more than likely scaring him.

His baby cousin's mouth fell open and he stared in awe.

"Really?" he demanded.

"But you have to tell me what happened."

Ron bit his lip, considering. "I saw Bill," he started, in a voice so soft Reynold had to strain to hear him, "but he'd grown, even bigger than Daddy. He got hurt 'cause of this nasty man who had yucky finger things and… and…"

"It's okay," Reynold interrupted, taking a chance and hugging Ronnie gently, being careful not to appear too intimate.

"I'm gonna go tell Bill," Ron announced, scrambling over the bed to where his brother slept. Reynold caught him quickly.

"Don't think that's a good idea, Ron."

"I saw an evil man who hurt Bill," he insisted. "I'm not gonna let it happen."

"It won't," Reynold coaxed, tightening his grip.

His baby cousin turned his puppy-dog eyes on him.

"Promise?" he said with his forehead furrowed in suspicion.

"Promise." Not a single body movement betrayed his lie.

"Okay," Ron nodded his acceptance and sat back. "Make the dream go away. Please."

He twirled his wand, murmured, and a shadow of silver seemed to glide from Ron's head and vanish into Reynold's pocket. He took a deep breath, and steeled himself for the next spell:

"_Obliviate!" _

Ron's bright eyes dulled and lost their piercing gaze. Reynold scooped him up in his arms and tucked him into bed, placing a tender kiss on his forehead.

"Night, Ronnie," he said, watching as his cousin's tense face melted into a peaceful one.

With a hushed, regretful sigh and a last look at Ron, Reynold took off the charms and spells he'd cast earlier and apparated from the room that reminded him so much of home.


	3. Buried Secrets

**A/N: My second**** fanfic****, but I still want you to be kind! To warn you, although this ****is**** mainly written in the genres family and supernatural, there will still be some romance – as in slash. So I would **_**really **_**appreciate it if you didn't flame because of the pairing (feel free to flame for the grammar, spelling, plot, etc.). **

**This story is dedicated to**** midnitemood****, who is amazing and who was the inspiration for this entire plot!**

**Main Pairing: Lee Jordan/Ron**** Weasley**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please do not attempt to sue me; I have a relative who's a lawyer!**

**Summary: Ronald**** Weasley**** discovers he is a Cursed and that the fate of his loved ones depends on whether or not he's willing to face up to his heritage, and the consequences if he does… **

**Warnings: Alternate Universe, Book 7 Disregarded, Character Death, Sexual Situations, Slash and Violence. **

**Rating applies to later chapters, as do most of the warnings. **

**Thanks to seanbiggerstaffrox and**** Elixier**** for reviewing!**

**Sorry for taking so long to update; I couldn't get this chapter right. I'm still not entirely happy with it, but I decided to be brave and submit it.**

Buried Secrets

The afternoon sky was smoky-grey, as though there had been a great fire in the distance, though in reality the fire was yet to come. The clouds were dark and it looked ready to rain any second, but they were reining in, as though waiting for an exact moment. The wind roared past, delighting in its freedom. The sun cowered in the background as it was upstaged. All in all, not weather for walking.

The solitary figure trudged on, over a mile from his home and not caring at all, deep in thought.

Ronald Weasley shivered as the wind whistled past him, tugging playfully at his cascade of scarlet hair. He glanced over his shoulder warily, though he knew he was too far away to be seen by the Burrow's occupants and dragged back again. Though he didn't know what use he was there.

He felt like he was living in a dream – or a nightmare, to be more accurate. Everything had disintegrated so quickly, everything had changed so quickly. Dumbledore had died less than a month ago, but it felt like centuries had passed. Bill had been attacked less than a month ago, but that incident was the least of their worries. Bill had been scarred, physically and emotionally, but at least he hadn't been dying.

But Bill was dying now, actually dying, in hospital from an infection no one could diagnose, let alone cure. Harry was sympathetic but dropping hints that it was time to go, to hunt for the Horcruxes. Ron knew that Harry and Hermione had only stayed this long because of him (and most likely Ginny too) but he couldn't leave; he couldn't abandon Bill, not when it was his fault Bill was like this.

Harry could wait. You-Know-Who could wait. The whole war could wait. All that mattered here and now was Bill.

If he'd just blasted Fenrir Greyback off Bill sooner… If he'd just caught the werewolf's attention himself… If he'd just… If he'd just…

His dad had insisted it wasn't his fault, but Ron was certain everyone else blamed him –nearly as much as he blamed himself.

He'd been there, after all. He'd been so near to where Bill had been fighting. He'd been the only Weasley male there for Bill to rely on (Ginny didn't count, she was the baby and the girl of the family) and he'd failed him. He'd got Fenrir Greyback off Bill but too late, far too late.

And then Bill had gone to Egypt soon after, for a weekend, to clear out his desk…

_A weekend. Two days. Forty-eight hours. Two thousand, eight hundred and eighty minutes. _

… So he could be free to get a job closer to Fleur. He'd returned, forcing a grin, and telling them about how his colleagues had given him a pain relief potion as a goodbye present. Charlie had said pointedly that it didn't seem to be working. Bill's scars were darker and more prominent than when he'd first got them.

Then he'd collapsed mid-way through dinner.

The staff at St. Mungo's had judged it to be a few weeks before the infection killed him.

So much for a pain relief potion.

Percy had returned to the family the second he'd heard about Bill being in hospital. Ron supposed he should have acted angrier, more irritated, radiating the whole 'well-it's-about-time' thing that the twins, Ginny and Charlie seemed to have no trouble with. But he'd just hugged Percy hard and forgave him instantly. At least one good thing had come out of it.

The hospital staff insisted on a maximum of six visitors in the two-hour visiting period, and although Percy returning meant they all got less turns with Bill it had been well worth it.

Well, they didn't all get less. His mum, Fleur and Charlie had predictably all demanded extra time with their son/fiancée/favourite brother.

Ron couldn't shake the feeling Fate had dragged Percy back to them as compensation for Bill's imminent death.

Charlie had been all set to go off on a murder rampage in Egypt, but when he and Percy went out to do some 'subtle' (like Charlie could ever be subtle when it came to Bill) investigating, everyone had swore the potion was a pain relief one.

Percy had reported he'd had to restrain Charlie at that point.

But when the two of them had described the mixture, Bill's friends had immediately looked bewildered and denied having anything to do with it. And since Percy had slipped veritaserum into their drinks, he figured they were telling the truth. Charlie just scowled.

And that brought them to another problem. If it wasn't Bill's colleagues, then who was it?

But all this. Fenrir Greyback. The wounds. The infection. Ron couldn't shake the feeling of familiarity, or déjà vu as Hermione would say.

Or she would, if she was actually talking to him.

He was still puzzling over his decision to break it off with her. She'd been hurt; angry… his cheek still ached from the slap she'd given him. But try as he might, his reasons still seemed valid. Bill was dying; his family was falling apart, now was not the time to have a girlfriend. He didn't even know why he felt like that, he and Bill hadn't been that close as children. It had been Ginny that he'd worried plenty about for the upcoming war. She was his little sister, after all.

His brothers were another matter altogether. They were older, stronger, tougher… how could they be anything other than immortal? But now there was a sudden oh-so-real possibility of his eldest brother dying, and that was making his heart thump crazily and the blood in his veins turn to ice.

And to be brutally honest, he couldn't remember what he had seen in Hermione.

Oh, she was still his best friend – nothing could change the loyalty he felt towards her and Harry. But he didn't see a pretty young woman when he looked at her. He saw his best friend, the girl he'd die for, the girl he loved… just not the girl he was _in_ love with.

And he regretted hurting her, he really did. He just didn't regret breaking it off before it was too late.

Fred, George, Ginny and Harry were all annoyed with him on Hermione's behalf. His parents couldn't understand it, and his mum had been reminding him of all the good times the two of them had shared. Charlie, Percy and Fleur hadn't said anything. He doubted they'd even noticed. Their brains were all permanently working round Bill.

He wondered what Lee Jordan thought.

Lee Jordan, Fred and George's best friend, had originally been staying for a few days before the Wedding, and although Bill's hospitalisation had 'postponed' it – and Ron had expected his mum to have been a bit happier about that. She was the woman who'd been so distraught at the idea of Billy marrying – he'd stayed at the Burrow anyway. Which he was grateful for, as Lee alone seemed immune to the depression swiftly taking over the house. Ron had been tempted to talk to him because of that but then again, he was Fred and George's best friend. He wouldn't be visible to Lee.

Though Ron could have sworn he had felt Lee's eyes on him several times. But it had to be that Lee was just surprised he'd grown up a bit.

Really, though, none of them could think of anything to do. Fleur had been crying almost non-stop, murmuring mournfully about it being her fault Bill had gone to Egypt. _'Yes, that part is,' _Ron had thought, glaring, but everyone else had been quick to console her.

After all, if the Healers didn't have a solution, what chance did they have? Charlie and Percy had disappeared one afternoon and returned a few hours later, laden with medical textbooks. The others had all poured over these, and even the knowledge that the Healers had studied these books as part of their training hadn't been enough to dissuade them. Neither had the fact that only Percy and Hermione understood what half of it meant.

That's what they were all doing now, while he was out here breathing in the cool outside air. Fleur had started screeching at him when he'd inched for the door, and Ginny had been directing her best glare at him, but he'd just tuned the two of them out. And no one else had raised a finger to stop him.

Ron's hair once again blew into his eyes, and he tugged it back. To no avail. But he'd never fasten it in a ponytail.

He knew they all blamed him. He knew it. Their looks spoke volumes.

Even he had noticed how closely he was beginning to mirror Bill. His hair was lighter, thinner, but starting to plunge to Bill's length. He was paler, not having soaked up the sunlight of Egypt, and Bill still had a few inches on him, and Ron was still irritatingly stick-like (months back, his elder brothers had insisted they'd only take him seriously if he developed some muscles to go with his height) but the likeness was there. And Charlie and Fleur in particular seemed aware of it.

But the strange thing was, he and Bill had nothing in common with their eyes and yet it was his eyes that seemed to fluster his parents and brothers. One of them would be talking to him, and then when he'd look them in the eye they'd break off, staring at him. Torn between horror and fascination.

But not Ginny, which was puzzling in itself. Nothing usually got past their sneaky little sister.

And Fleur didn't seem to be affected by it either. So what was going on?

Maybe they'd accepted that they were looking into the eyes of a murderer.

Bile rose in his throat, and Ron silently accepted that he'd sell his soul for a way to cure Bill. He was responsible for everything, so he had to fix it. He just had to figure out a way.

He found himself musing once again about there being just one Time-Turner left in the world. He could go back, take away that wretched potion of Bill's colleagues, even back to the fight in Hogwarts, dispose of Fenrir Greyback…

A sceptical voice in his head asked if he'd really kill for his brother. Ron supposed it was a bad thing he didn't even need to consider.

For his family, for his siblings, for his brothers, he'd do things that would send him to hell. Or at the very least, he'd hold a spider.

Ron couldn't help shuddering at the thought.

With a start, he noticed he'd gone further than he had intended. To his horror, as he scanned his surroundings, he realized he was where his parents had always told them not to go.

Hey, he wasn't related to Fred and George for nothing.

There was a sudden lurch in the ground and Ron found himself going down a slope. He half-walked, half-skidded his way to the bottom and looked around, the sense of rebellion making a sweet taste in his mouth.

However, he couldn't see what was so prohibited about this place.

Whenever he or Ginny had demanded a reason from their parents, they'd rambled on about 'unsafe' and changed the subject as quickly as they could. Though he did seem to remember them saying something about a pond.

As far as he knew, though, nobody had actually broken 'the sacred rule'. He and Ginny had been desperate to go there as children (Merlin, he was curious now), but it hadn't been their parents who'd stopped them.

He supposed that was the pond, about ten metres in front of him. Even from here he could tell it was small. He'd probably only manage a few strokes from one side to another. He couldn't tell how deep it was, the midnight blue water was deceptive. Reeds sprouted up all round the edge, mirroring the way the ash trees sprouted round this area. Shading it. Protecting it. Concealing it. Ron strolled over to the pond, realizing his heartbeat had almost returned to normal, and his blood seemed to be flowing better.

He nearly walked past it. It was at the base of a tree, sheltered by the huge trunk. He didn't know why he glanced to his left, didn't know he was going to change his entire future just with that gesture, but he did. And he saw it.

At first it didn't register. Just a cracked, faded, black stone with silver writing. Writing that stood out. Writing that he could read from where he was standing. Writing that could make his heart plummet.

_Reynold Septimus Weasley _

_13__th__ March 1963 to 29__th__ February 1980_

_Adored son of Bilius Weasley and Gertrude Mallory _

_Beloved nephew of Arthur and Molly Weasley_

_Favourite cousin of William, Charles, Percy, Frederick, George and Ronald Weasley_

_Forever in our thoughts_

_R.I.P_

The rain finally began to downpour.

* * *

The rain battered against the window and Lee Jordan scowled at it as he tossed and turned on his bed. He glowered round at the shadowy room, longing for sleep. Beside him, Fred and George were snoring softly. He sighed, silently accepting he would be awake for quite a bit longer, and that meant no escape from his thoughts.

Even though Fred and George had invited him over – originally for the Wedding, insisting that if Ronnie and Gin could have friends over they could too – he felt like he was imposing on the family grief by staying, like he had no right to be there.

Lee just couldn't connect the two. He'd met Bill on several occasions, but that had been more than enough time to form an opinion. Bill Weasley, with his long hair and fang earring, was relaxed, friendly and cool. The type of person all guys wanted to be.

How could that same person be lying in a hospital bed, looks gone forever, their life trickling out of them?

What made it worse was that they were all powerless to help him, though that didn't mean they were going to accept that. They'd spent the last few days pouring over medical textbooks but today in particular Lee found it difficult to concentrate. Someone had been missing, and that someone was a problem to be solved.

Ron had come in later that afternoon, soaked to the skin (Lee tried not to think about how Ron's wet clothes clinging to him had emphasised his figure, or how his dripping hair had only made it look more tempting), brushing off his mum's concerns and then lapsing into a distracted silence for the rest of the evening. Anyone attempting to have a conversation with him had had to repeat themselves at least three times before he noticed and responded in monosyllables.

And that was his problem: Ronald Weasley.

Lee had known Ron since the latter was ten years old, gangly, shy and cheerful. He didn't know how it had happened, but suddenly he wasn't seeing just Fred and George's younger brother when he glanced at Ron. He didn't know why he'd fallen for Ron, or even how. He couldn't remember ever being so aware of Ron: the way the sunlight glinted off his hair, the way his lips curved, the way his eyes hypnotized.

Maybe the temptation came from the fact that Ron was Forbidden. The baby brother of his best friends, totally off-limits.

Fred and George had more arguments with Ron than Lee used his wand, but anyone could tell – with careful observation – how protective they were of their baby brother. Lee could remember how the twins had been when they'd returned from visiting Ron when he'd been poisoned earlier on this year. White-faced, concern shimmering in their eyes, raging with anything and everything.

And Lee was fairly certain Bill, Charlie and Percy would be the same. And he'd rather not be hunted down and brutally murdered by five elder brothers, thanks all the same.

But what would be even worse than that was if Ron found out about what he was thinking. Though if Ron did know, then he'd turn him down, and maybe he'd stop feeling like this.

Maybe the temptation came from the fact Ron was a Weasley male, and it was common knowledge Weasley males were attractive. And Ron was the most available, having just split up with Hermione. He knew for a fact the rest of the Weasley males were all undoubtedly straight, whereas with Ron it was only a possibility.

Bill was – is, damnit, _is _– engaged to a veela; he'd spent seven years observing the ease the twins had with women; he'd heard about Charlie's exploits, gleefully recounted by Fred and George; and despite the fact Percy was an annoying, pompous git, Lee had noticed (along with a set of unimpressed twins) the stares from the girls in Lee's year and above that were directed at Percy…

But his fingers didn't itch at the sight of Bill's tumbling locks of scarlet.

But his palms didn't sweat when Charlie brushed against him.

But his heart didn't do summersaults when Percy glanced at him with bewitching blue eyes.

But he didn't ache to caress Fred's creamy skin and count the littering freckles.

But he didn't turn into a stuttering, blushing wreck when George entered the room.

When he thought about it, he was surprised no one had noticed, no one had said anything and, best of all, the twins remained oblivious. So far. He'd have to start acting a lot more subtle, though this was probably just a passing fantasy.

'_But if it isn't?' _his mind taunted.

Ron would probably hit him if he had any clue about what was going on in Lee's twisted mind. Actually, on second thought, he'd be more likely to force a smile and turn him down gently, looked appalled all the while. Ron was usually polite (well, as polite as Ron could be) to him, as he was Fred and George's friend.

Fred and George's best friend. What would happen to the three of them if they found out what was on his mind? They'd been even more eager for Ron and Hermione to get together than Ron and Hermione had themselves, but Lee wasn't stupid enough to expect the same treatment. They'd want the best for their little brother, and that definitely wouldn't be a gay fling with their supposed best friend.

He wouldn't taint Ron with that knowledge, and he wouldn't sacrifice his friendship with the twins. Lee was determined. He would not have to choose between the twins and Ron.

Decision made, he should have felt a lot easier and immediately drifted off to sleep. However, his brain was still firmly wired up and Lee crawled out of bed and slid out the door. Standing outside in the cool air sometimes helped him wind down.

He'd just reached the foot of the stairs when the sound of voices from the kitchen made him freeze. He reached for his wand, cursing himself when he realized he hadn't taken it with him. Lee cautiously took a step back, straining to hear if the voices had heard him, when it suddenly became apparent who was talking. He blinked then, feeling foolish.

"A lot? Molly they could be twins!" It was unmistakeably Arthur Weasley speaking, though admittedly sounding more frustrated and unhappy than he'd ever heard him. Molly murmured something in reply and Lee hesitated, torn between leaving and staying to listen. He could make a guess at who they were talking about, though he wasn't sure if that was a reasonable link or if it was just because he'd been thinking a lot about the two of them. If it was, though, he couldn't help thinking 'twins' was a bit of a stretch. Bill and Ron were definitely alike – and Charlie and Fleur's furtive glances further proved that – but they weren't _that _similar.

"Merlin, it's like looking at him. Like he's come back to life. Like it's his ghost or even his corpse." Lee winced at how heartbroken Arthur sounded, and then realized what he had said.

_Okay… Not Bill and Ron then. _

"I still think we should tell him!" Molly Weasley was hissing.

"No. Absolutely not." Arthur's voice invited no room for argument. "Ron doesn't need to know about… about… R-Reynold."

'Reynold'? Lee's brow furrowed in thought. He knew this was a private conversation, knew that he really should leave, but there was an air of intrigue here that he just couldn't resist.

"Arthur…"

"Molly, what person wants to know their cousin committed suicide because of them?"

There was a brief silence in which Lee hardly dared breathe.

"You don't know that."

"What else could it have been?" Arthur sounded tired, weary, as though he'd give anything for this conversation to be over.

"He'll find out sooner or later. The boys feel the same way as us. They might not be old enough to remember what he looked like, but I'm sure they remember… what happened."

"The twins were so young though…"

"Old enough to remember." Molly sounded firm, determined, but there was a slight quiver in her voice. "They're acting like us, and Ron's not stupid."

"It's just… his eyes, Molly! They've always been Reynold's, but I just didn't notice until now."

Lee had heard enough. He turned tail and fled up the stairs, berating himself for listening in on that conversation. He was panting by the time he slid into bed, but he managed to muffle it so not to wake Fred or George. Shivering, he huddled into the mattress.

His family had buried secrets, and his mum had assured him all families did. Looked like the Weasleys were no exception.


	4. Deadly Discussions

**Hey, everyone! I'm so sorry for taking this long to update. I have a ton of excuses lined up, but I won't bore you by listing them all. Let's just say my muse took a holiday and refused to be lured back. Evil things, muses. **

**To remind you, this is a family/supernatural story but there will be slash. If this offends you, please don't read. At the moment, there is only hints of it, but that will change. :D**

**Dedicated to: midnitemood, who is amazing! I'm sorry, I promised you a fic and it's going so slowly!**

**Main pairing: Lee Jordan/Ron Weasley**

**Summary: Ronald Weasley discovers he is a Cursed and that the fate of his loved ones depends on whether or not he's willing to face up to his heritage, and the consequences if he does...**

**Warnings: Alternate Universe, Book 7 disregarded, Character Death, Sexual Situations, Slash, Swearing and Violence.**

**Rating applies to later chapters, as do a couple of the warnings. **

**Thanks to everyone who read this story, and to everyone who then put it on their favourite and/or alert list, and big thanks to midnitemood for reviewing! He might, he might not... *tries to look mysterious***

* * *

Bending over the sleeping figure, Ron struggled to remember why this had sounded like a good idea. Staring at Lee's peaceful face made Ron decide to go back to bed and force down his curiosity. What did it matter, when they were in the midst of a war?

Ron turned away, determined to go get some sleep, when a low groan captured his attention. Glancing back, Ron's eyes widened when he caught sight of Lee's open mouth and tense body. The older teenager groaned again, and Ron's mind immediately flashed to _nightmare._ He wondered if he should wake Lee up, but realized he would then have to account for his presence in the room. Shuddering at the thought of how awkward that conversation would be, Ron scurried to the door.

"_Ron..."_

Ron froze in the doorway. How? He had been sure Lee was asleep.

"_Ron..."_

The redhead winced, slowly turning around, his eyes on the ground. His mind raced to find an excuse, but he drew a blank. Tell the truth? Nah, that never worked. Hermione might have reacted better if he'd told her something other than he was no longer attracted to her.

"_Ron!"_

Sighing, Ron lifted his gaze from the floor and onto Lee. His own mouth fell open when he noticed Lee's eyes were still shut... his body still twitching... his head still on the pillow...

Oh, thank Merlin. Lee was still asleep.

Ron let out a shaky breath and grinned. Close one. He would leave _now_, and possibly go find the twins to talk to. Or Percy. Maybe even Charlie. Ron's nose wrinkled at the thought of having to talk to the irritable second-eldest, but Charlie would have been seven when Reynold died. More likely to have memories than four-year-old Percy or two-year-old Fred and George.

Honestly, Ron didn't know why he was so obsessed with finding out about his dead cousin, but it was a distraction. A welcome distraction from the war, from Dumbledore, from Hermione, from Bill...

Besides, Reynold died the day before Ron's birth. That had to be significant, right?

_'Nice one, mate,' _Ron thought, frowning. _'Bad luck symbol before you were even born.'_

The grave had never said what he died of. Now he thought about, what could have killed a seventeen-year-old wizard living in 1980? Lord Voldemort was the obvious answer, but why would Reynold have been the only one to die? He must have died at the Burrow, why else would his grave be practically in their back garden? Maybe he wasn't a wizard. Maybe he was a Squib. Maybe that's why Ron hadn't known of his existence until now.

But why would his muggle-loving family have kept a Squib a secret? Especially as Reynold wasn't some distant third cousin or whatever. He was their cousin, Bilius's _son_...

Funny how no one had ever mentioned Bilius had a son.

Ron's frown deepened, and he was suddenly sick of this. It was ridiculous, it didn't make sense. Chess made sense, and he liked chess. To be the winner of the game, you just have to be the player who makes the next-to-last mistake. Surely, in seventeen years, Arthur's only nephew would have come up in the conversation. Once, just once.

With a jolt, Ron came out of his reverie. His eyes instantly strayed to Lee's figure, still slightly moaning. Ron was curious about why Lee was moaning _his _name, but shrugged it off. Dream Ron was probably being tortured and, quite frankly, he was going through enough torture just now. He didn't need to know about dream torture.

Ron remembered now why coming to Lee had been a good idea. If his family were going to hush it all up, then he was going to find answers himself. And who better to help him than an equally sneaky (Nifflers in Umbridge's office) but kinder (that time in fourth year when he hung out with Lee almost non-stop) version of the twins?

* * *

"Let me get this straight," the dark-haired, light-eyed adult leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You want me to babysit your demonic baby cousin while you gallivant off on a beach holiday?"

Reynold Weasley glared, a direct contrast to his sugary-sweet voice as he replied, "If you can't handle it, Chris, I'd be happy to ask someone else. It's only two weeks."

"Hell, no," Christopher said, sitting up straight. He smirked. "Besides, you ain't got no one else to ask. They're off on this beach holiday of yours."

Reynold buried his head in his hands. His voice was muffled as he said, "I don't want to go. You know that. El's just got it in her head I need a holiday."

Chris took a swig of his beer, surveying his friend. "You do need a holiday," he said, rolling his eyes. "When was the last time you took a break?"

Reynold lifted up his head to treat Chris to another of his icy glares. "I take lots of breaks."

Chris scoffed. "Sure."

The two of them lapsed into silence, staring at the cracks in the wooden table as though they held the secret to life.

Reynold glanced up several minutes later. "He's not my baby cousin."

Chris blinked, baffled, before he remembered their conversation of earlier.

"And he's not demonic," Reynold added, though he didn't keep eye contact this time. Chris contemplated teasing him but Reynold had inherited what he called 'the Weasley temper'. And, thank you all the same, Chris liked his head in its current position – attached to his neck.

He forced a grin. "He's seventeen, man. Half our age."

Reynold pulled a face and reached for his beer. "Don't say that. Damn, I feel old."

"Lemme get you another drink," Chris offered, as Reynold swallowed the last few drops. "Don't matter how old you are when you're drunk."

* * *

Ron hovered over the bed, staring down and wondering what was the best way to wake Lee up. With Fred and George, it took a few good whacks with a pillow. Percy would jolt awake the second you stepped into his room. Sitting on Charlie would eventually wake him up, and Bill would only respond to a mug of coffee.

Rolling his eyes at the idiotic antics of his brothers, Ron leaned over, the tips of his shoulder-length hair nearly brushing against Lee's face.

"Lee!" he hissed, internally crowing when Lee's eyes snapped open.

The euphoric feeling didn't last long, however, when panic filled Lee's dark eyes and his head shot up from the pillow. Ron leaped back, narrowly avoiding a broken nose.

"Merlin's pants, warn a guy, would you?" he grumbled, rubbing his nose to make sure it was still all there.

Lee, blinking rather rapidly, stared at him as though he'd just escaped a lunatic asylum.

"Hey, you woke _me _up, not the other way round!" his voice was thick with sleep but Lee attempted a glare to emphasize his point. Ron shrugged, not at all perturbed.

Yawning, Lee dragged his wrist out from under the covers, his eyes widening when he realized the time. Snapping his head round to properly scowl, Lee's voice was reminiscent of a grumpy Charlie's when he snapped:

"What the hell do you want, Ronald?"

Ron scowled back, both at the tone of voice and his full name, but decided to cut Lee some slack. Not everyone could be as wonderfully wide awake and gracious as he was at four in the morning. Sitting down at the edge of Lee's bed, Ron widened his eyes and tried to look irresistibly adorable. Well, it had worked when he was four.

"Lee, what would you do – what should you do – if you found out you had a relative... a close relative... a close, dead relative... you never knew about?"

The elder male seemed thrown by the question, his eyebrows climbing into the roots of his hair as Ron spoke, before his eyes narrowed in suspicion and he gave Ron another one of his, "You belong in the loony bin" looks. But then his face seemed to smooth out in surprise and Ron leaned forward, intrigued. This had the opposite effect, however, as Lee's eyes went wide with alarm and he all but threw himself back against the headboard. Ron silently huffed, returning to his original position. Merlin, what was Lee's problem? Maybe he was one of those macho guys, rigidly straight, who didn't like other guys too near him.

Or maybe – just maybe – he was a member of the "Poor Hermione, Evil Ron" fan club. Ron's shoulders slumped. Drat. Really, everyone was so bloody sensitive. It was none of their business that he'd detached himself from the arms of his prospective girlfriend. And, anyway, according to her he had the 'emotional range of a teaspoon'. She should be grabbing the opportunity to flee from him with both hands.

"Ron, you okay?" Ron glanced up, startled, to find himself the focus on Lee's intense gaze. Lee had evidently gotten over his discomfort and also returned to his old position, though he looked more attentive and awake than before.

He smiled shakily in return. "Yeah, course."

"About the whole close, dead relative thing..." Lee prompted. Ron blinked, gratefully escaping from his thoughts. He turned hopeful, ocean-blue eyes on Lee.

"This is hypothetically speaking, right?"

"Course," Ron said hastily, trying to look as though he used words like 'hypothetically' all the time.

"Well, then. Hypothetically speaking, I'd go talk to one of my brothers..."

"Do you have any brothers?" Ron cut in, eyebrows drawn together in interest.

"No. Anyway, I'd hypothetically speak to one of my older brothers who are likely to know about close, dead relatives."

"Ah." Ron shifted on the bed, considering this. "And what if, hypothetically speaking, they're not talking to you because they're mad you dumped your hypothetical girlfriend-to-be?"

Lee stifled a yawn, flushing slightly when Ron gave him a reproachful look. "Ron, your brothers aren't mad at you."

Ron mirrored his "asylum" look right back at him.

"Well, the twins aren't."

Oh, good grief. Ron really was surrounded by idiots.

"Uh huh."

"Okay, they are a bit mad, but not at you. Much. It's the whole situation."

Ron would have interrupted by this point, but Lee looked so animated, gesturing with his hands which, now Ron looked at them closely, were large and smooth-looking. They'd probably fit quite comfortably round his waist. The tips of his ears turning red, Ron focused his attention on Lee, resolving to have sex with the next willing girl. He needed to get laid. Desperately.

"... the fact that war made you feel like you and Hermione couldn't be together, that's what they're mad about." Lee nodded wisely, as though he spouted psychological drivel like that all the time, though he couldn't keep eye contact for more than a few seconds.

Ron took a few moments to digest that. "Oh." Personally, he thought it was too early in the morning – Lee's brain clearly hadn't been switched on.

But... then again... he was the twins' best friend. His heart began to soar at the possibility, but he forced down his enthusiasm and tried to play it cool.

"Oh," he said again, copying Lee's wise nod. "That, er, makes sense. I think."

"And if I were this hypothetical person," Lee continued, a smile playing about the corner of his lips, like Ron was some adorable puppy or something, "I would go talk to my brothers. Tomorrow. Or," Lee glanced again at his watch, "today. But later. Much later."

Ron bounced to his feet. "Okay," he said happily. Then, for the first time, he fixated his gaze on the empty beds in the corner.

"Er, Lee? Where are the twins?"

Lee glanced over, his forehead furrowing in thought.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. They went to see Ginny about, um, one o'clock? She couldn't sleep and wanted them to do something with her."

Ron raised his eyebrows. "That took three hours?"

Lee shrugged. "Well, they probably fell asleep in her room. Some people need their sleep, you know," he added, eyeing Ron meaningfully. Ron rolled his eyes, taking the hint.

"Yeah, yeah. I was just wondering... and I wanted to talk to someone... and Charlie and Percy are really moody when I wake them up..."

"And the twins aren't?"

"Well, yeah, they are. I just figured they're more likely to tell me about some dead family member who no one seems to talk about." Ron laughed, missing the way Lee flinched. "Yeah, our family's totally mad. Hang about long enough and you'll get used to it."

Ron headed purposefully towards the door, turning round at the last moment.

"Sorry to bother you, by the way. Just you were here and Fred and George weren't and you've got to be more useful than they are as you're not my brother..."

Lee tried to smile back, but it looked a little strained. Ron was about to leave but his conscience gave him a sharp stab. He stared at Lee.

"Er... you okay?"

Lee started to speak, but the words were hoarse and indistinct. Clearing his throat, he tried again.

* * *

Reynold slammed his empty tankard down. "Chris, this is serious."

Chris threw up his hands in mock surrender. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Can I see the necklace now?" he said, attempting a sweet smile. Reynold felt his anger die down at the sight of his towering, muscled, heavily armed friend trying to look as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

He had to admit, he still had some concerns about leaving his lithe, almost delicate charge under Chris's protection, but even the opposition had been known to think twice before challenging him and his knives. Chris was one of the few Vigilants who relied less on their wand and more on a Muggle weapon, but it didn't make him any less lethal.

Wishing he'd never agreed to go away in the first place, Reynold reached into his jacket pocket, withdrew the piece of jewellery and handed it over to Chris.

Chris's first expression was surprise, and Reynold guessed that was at the weight of it. He always expected it to feel heavier too, as its cargo was the contents of someone's mind.

"Huh," Chris said finally, examining the dull copper sheen of the teardrop-shaped jewel. "Why'd you have your kid's foreshadows in this anyway?"

"They're not just foreshadows," Reynold corrected, unable to shake his know-it-all nature. "You _know _about his Sight. And besides," he suddenly looked awkward, shifting in his seat. "His visions – well, they're pretty... um, _accurate_. If they're allowed to run their course, that is."

"Oh?" Chris didn't seem to be paying much attention, his gaze riveted on the dancing and twisting shapes inside the jewel. Rather a lot for a seventeen-year-old but, then again, there was nothing normal about this entire organization. "What's the furthest he's seen on any wavelength?"

Reynold suddenly seemed to find his fingernails fascinating. "Eh? Oh, uh, fifty years is the furthest."

Chris nearly dropped the necklace. "Fifty? Fuck, past or future?"

"Both," Reynold said, as airily as he could muster.

Chris's mouth hung open. "Why... why isn't that in the records?" he spluttered.

The redhead bit his lip, a faint blush appearing on his cheeks.

Chris snorted, fastening the necklace round his neck. "Damon. Knew it."

Reynold gave him a half-hearted reproving look, but didn't make any move to defend their commander.

A few beats of silence passed. "Y'know," Chris drawled, looking more composed, "I'm pretty sure that's exploitation."

* * *

"Do you mean... do you mean Reynold?" Lee spoke softly, but his voice seemed to echo in the quiet room. Ron's hand froze against the doorknob.

"Yeah," he breathed, hardly daring to move. "Yeah, that's exactly who I mean." He spun round, but instantly realized it was the wrong to do. Lee had hunched up on himself, pressing his lips together in a tight line.

"Night, Ron," he said through gritted teeth.

Ron hovered, wondering if he should stay and probe a little more, but there was a fine line between pestering and harassing and he knew which would get him a fist to the face.

"Night, Lee," he replied reluctantly, slipping out the door. He'd continue his investigation tomorrow. Or today. But later, much later.

* * *

Of course it was exploitation. Could you honestly expect anything less from an organization with the type of morals they had? No shades of grey. Just black and white, like a chessboard.

Reynold felt sick to his stomach. He'd never felt comfortable with what they were doing, but if he spoke up then he'd lose his protector status. And that would mean entrusting his cousin to someone else, someone who wasn't family. Someone who wouldn't lay down their own life. Someone who might find it regrettable if their charge died. Might. Someone who would have no problem with killing a Cursed if they had to.

It was a basic rule. If the Cursed started using their powers to kill people, they had to be destroyed. No matter the situation. Reynold was torn between marching up to his commanders and telling them exactly what he thought of their inane system, and running to Ron and making sure he never got the chance to use his powers in an 'unacceptable' way.

Voldemort had risen from the dead several years ago, though, and so far so good. Ron remained blissfully unaware of his potential, his powers, even Reynold's very existence!

Reynold leaned back in his chair, the ghost of a smile flickering around his lips. He was fussing without reason.

After all, what could possibly happen in two weeks?

* * *

**So... what did you think? Too bitty? I would love to know *hint, hint*! I've spent so long fiddling with this chapter I've no idea if it's any good anymore.**

**All credit must go to Savielly Tartakower for the 'The winner of the game is the player who makes the next-to-last mistake' concept. I quite liked it!**


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